
I've lived through the best and worst of the video gaming's 8- and 16bit "golden" years, is what I'm saying here. I've played the games that came on eight discs, swappable every other round. I've blown on more cartridges than you've had hot dinners. (I haven't, obviously, but I've put my share to my lips in the hope of clearing dusty pins.) I can see, with absolute 20/20 clarity, that the games of today are so much better than the vast majority of those in the past. Which isn't to say your memories of having fantastic fun with a Competition Pro on your lap are in any way wrong, but they're just that: memories. And memories tend to favour the better aspects of any given experience over the shit that came with it, at the time.So it puzzles me, palpably, whenever crowd-funded campaigns to bring old titles, kicking and screaming like a Speccy cassette on an endless loading loop, into the contemporary gaming landscape pop up, promising new ways to replay the fondly recalled favourites of your childhood. Because, if you liked games then, and still do now, you know full well that Turrican doesn't hold a candle to the best of Call of Duty (wow, I actually wrote that), and that Ultima IV looks like a disaster on a Stickle Bricks production line beside the gorgeous, entirely enveloping fantasy environments of The Witcher 3. And, I know, these games shouldn't be compared like that. Different times, different technology, different worlds. But that's the choice that new products like The 64, currently raising funds on Indiegogo, presents to us in 2016: do you want to smash about with your mates on Rocket League, or will Super Sprint fill that free time just as excitingly?
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